


give this ache a name

by sepiacigarettes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 06, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stranded, Suicidal Ideation, running as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiacigarettes/pseuds/sepiacigarettes
Summary: Just the mention of Keith leaves Shiro feeling breathless, suckerpunched. Everything after the astral plane has amplified tenfold, and any sort of association with Keith makes Shiro dizzy from the torrent of emotions.“He’s the best part of me,” he admits.“Yes,” Allura says, and Shiro is grateful she held his soul, grateful he doesn’t have to explain what Keith is to him, because she already knows. “You’ll tell him, won’t you? That you love him too?”“…yeah, Allura, I’ll tell him.”or: all the times Shiro thought about telling Keith he loved him, and the one time he did
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 132





	give this ache a name

**Author's Note:**

> a belated birthday fic for the bestest birthday boy 🖤

> “
> 
> I looked it up, you know. This heaviness in my chest, I wanted to **give this ache a name**.
> 
> ‘There are no pain receptors in the lungs.’
> 
> I read.
> 
> But there are oceans and there are waves, and there is the saltwater I taste behind my teeth - with every breath I swallow, I drown.
> 
> Except.
> 
> There are no pain receptors in lungs."
> 
> **\- BOLDED ITALICS, A LIE IN EIGHT WORDS |** [**P.D**](http://lostcap.tumblr.com/) **(VIA** [**PHI DEAN VULPE**](http://lostcap.tumblr.com/) **)**

— S —

After the astral plane, everything is sharper, louder, brighter. After the astral plane, the first thing Shiro sees is Keith.

Keith, haloed in light, leaning down to him. He smells like desperation and relief all rolled into one, and the burn of it behind Shiro’s eyelid blends spectacularly with the headache pressing against his temples.

“You found me,” he rasps, and Keith cradles him like one would with a fragile crystal, as though Shiro might shatter if he isn’t careful.

Lying there within a body that stings at the slightest touch, Shiro thinks he could.

And then he dreams.

He dreams of another lifetime, before he touched the stars, when the brightest spot in his life was this starburst rebel of a boy named Keith. He dreams of honey yellow sunsets and the taste of dust on his tongue; of the way Keith had melted against him every time Shiro opened his arms.

And when he wakes, he sees Keith again.

“I was dreaming. You saved me.”

“We saved each other.”

The third time he wakes up, they’re in Black’s cargo hold. Shiro is on a bed, Keith on the floor next to him. Keith’s face is illuminated by the soft violet glow of Black’s interior, his chin perched atop his folded arms next to Shiro.

“What is this?” Shiro says softly, no other words coming to mind.

“Living?” Keith suggests, peering through his fringe.

He’s so stunning, Shiro wonders if that’s the reason he’s so breathless.

“Feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Yeah?”

But if this is a dream, then it’s the best Shiro has ever had. Keith smiles at him, and in the dark, his sclera glow faintly.

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks.

“Home,” Keith tells him. “We’re going home.”

— S —

But they don’t go home.

Everything is blurry for the next few quintants, like Shiro is looking through a lens that is out of focus. He sleeps and dreams and wakes up feeling like he got dragged through a firestorm, and then the Lions get separated by an energy pulse.

When Shiro comes to, it’s Allura who shakily explains how they nearly lost sight of each other.

Only after do they realise they’re in an entirely different star system to before. It’s a strange comfort, to no longer be alone in the black doldrums.

 _“Okay, well, I don’t know where the fuck we are,”_ Pidge grouses.

 _“That’s an A for Obvious right there,”_ Lance provides unhelpfully, and he’s rewarded by Pidge snapping at him over comms.

_“Obvious starts with an ‘O’, moron.”_

_“Seriously, you guys?”_ Hunk interjects, sounding as exhausted as Shiro feels. _“We_ just _went through this.”_

Keith takes over, always the leader when necessary. Shiro couldn’t be prouder of him. _“Hunk’s right. Let’s get down to lower atmo.”_

The planet before them reminds Shiro of candy cotton, with its pink and purple continents and emerald ocean. It’s been a while since they’ve seen anything so lush before, and they’re just entering orbit when a spaceship joins them, asking for credentials.

Allura sighs and takes charge, but the ordeal has taken it out of all of them and though she does her best to don her diplomatic airs and graces, Shiro can see it’s a thin facade.

Only when Keith speaks up do the two aliens swivel their eyes onto him instead. For once, his half-Galra status is not a negative.

 _“A Galra and Altean working together?”_ they muse.

Keith frowns, always on the defensive, always ready to fight for any of them. Shiro loves him. “If it’s an issue then we’ll be on our way.”

 _“Not an issue, no,”_ the envoy soothes. _“The opposite, in fact. It’s been so long since we’ve seen your two races alongside one another.”_

The smaller one says, _“You must meet our Queen.”_

— S —

The city they’re taken to is beautiful, its buildings made of gleaming mother of pearl that shimmer in the light from the twin suns. Khane is the main hub of the six-planet Tafeeri system, one which maintains its own economy among the billions of other planets in the universe.

“The Galra influence has certainly been felt here,” Hora, the shorter sentry, tells them as he leads the way through the city. “Especially since we once were closely allied with Altea. It’s only been in the last three deca-phoebs that we’ve managed to reclaim our system entirely.”

His counterpart, Makira, adds, “There wasn’t much for the Galra Empire to gain from us, anyway. We’re too far on the fringe of the universe.”

Pidge, who up until now had been content to stay by Hunk’s side as they zoomed in the shuttle above the city, steps forward to address them. “How far out are we talking here?”

Makira studies her. “Our closest system is the Tone system, around 46 billion lightyears from the Olkarion system.”

Pidge’s face pales while Lance whistles. Next to them, Romelle counts on her fingers. Allura and Keith look as shaken as Shiro.

“We’re a long way from home, huh,” Shiro says softly.

“Very much so,” Allura agrees, touching his arm carefully.

When he catches her gaze, he sees all the thoughts and uncertainties flitting over her face. He wishes he could do something about it.

The Khori Queen Hewiti is tall and bronze in the sunlight, her voice deep and soothing as she speaks to them. It reminds Shiro strangely of the ocean. “My sentries have told me of your alliance. It has been centuries since we have seen an Altean and Galra work together.”

“We’re family,” Shiro says firmly, before the other two can speak because he’s still a leader in some aspects, damn it. Years of Garrison training aren’t taken away simply from a few death experiences. “And we’re just trying to get home.”

“Yes,” Hewiti says, her brilliant eyes scanning over their group. “Your Lions… We have heard the tales of Voltron even in this corner of the universe. Khane welcomes you, Paladins of Voltron. I am happy to grant you whatever you need during your stay here.”

For a moment, Shiro balks. Really? Is it that easy?

— S —

It’s _that_ easy.

A varga later and they’ve been assigned accommodation in the Eastern Wing of the Rotan’i Castle. Allura recommends a nap, even though it can’t be much later than eighteen-hundred, but exhaustion is pricking at the back of Shiro’s head anyway and so he claims a room when the others do.

It’s grand, grander than the rooms they were given in the Castle of Lions. Shiro just stares at the bed before him, unsure.

Movement behind him—Keith.

“Are you okay, Shiro?” Keith asks, and his hand could heal Shiro, the way it lands on Shiro’s lower back so easily.

 _Never better,_ Shiro thinks sarcastically. “Nope,” he says instead.

Keith touches his shoulder, and the sweetness of it is like cotton candy burrowing underneath Shiro’s tongue. Keith was never as tactile as this, ever—that was always Shiro—but then again, he’s been gone for two years in his timeline. The space whale gave him a level of confidence that has painted itself into every move he’s made since he stepped off the Altean cruiser.

“What can I do?”

 _Hold me,_ Shiro wants to say, because he hasn’t felt the same since Keith gathered him up into his arms and said they saved each other. 

“I don’t know.”

Keith runs a thumb over Shiro’s bicep, and it feels precious, sacred. It feels like the frayed edges of Shiro are being pulled together again, just by that.

“Tell me when you do know then.”

— S —

That first night is spent rolling around in bed, half delirious. Shiro’s skin is too tight on his body, the sheets stifling hot. He gets up and paces the room, sits next to the window and wonders what would happen if he knocked hard enough to shatter the glass.

The second, third and fourth nights are much the same.

In the morning, Keith comes to his room. They sit in the dawning light of the two suns, Lona and Pali, and Shiro tries to bury the ache inside him, tries not to bring it to the surface.

“Did you sleep alright?”

Shiro shakes his head.

The feel of Keith’s fingers on his knee make him start, before he’s grabbing at Keith’s wrist to stop him from leaving.

“It’s okay,” he says, not sure for whose benefit. “It’s okay.”

Keith doesn’t say anything at first. “Okay, Shiro.”

On the fifth night, Shiro gets up.

He’s out of his room, out into the open castle.

The hallways are deathly quiet.

Shiro finds Allura at the end of one, sitting on the balustrade. Below them, Rotan’i City glows in neons that make Shiro’s eyes hurt if he stares too hard.

“Hello,” Allura murmurs, holding out her hand for him to take. “Are you feeling better?”

Shiro does so, because she’s his princess, and because he wouldn’t be here without her. “Slightly.”

It’s as honest as Shiro will let himself be. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel better, just less broken, less too much, for once. He fills the space next to her, like smoke, because she can see him, sure, but Shiro doesn’t know if he’ll disintegrate the moment she touches him.

“That’s good,” she says, and Shiro can almost feel the warmth she’s supposed to be emanating.

A lifetime ago, when he was a child, Shiro used to sit in the driveway of his childhood home and bake in the summer sun until his mother took him inside to apply aloe vera to his reddened skin.

This doesn’t feel anything like the sun rays on his face.

This feels like the aftermath, with the sheets too scratchy against his sensitive arms in the dead of the night.

“Yes,” he says woodenly. “It’s good, I guess.” The next inhale tastes like bile. “It’s funny, sitting here on the edge. Feels like it’s hitting a little too close to home.”

It’s sort of not the kind of conversation to really have with Allura; she’s always been the more righteous one of the two. No, this conversation is something he’d easily share with Keith instead, and they might laugh about him dying or something equally morbid, because otherwise Shiro would end up crying instead and neither of them need to deal with that. Especially Keith.

Allura’s hand is still in his. She does not reprimand him like she might do if any of the others spoke like that. “You know,” she tells him, “perhaps this is for the best, for all of us, for you. It’s been so long since all we did was fight.”

“Perhaps,” Shiro hedges.

“You forget I held your soul once,” she says with a smile. “I know the burden of leadership as well as you. It won’t kill you to take a break, for once.”

“No, quite the opposite,” he says delicately.

This one is certainly deserving of a reprimand and yet it still isn’t forthcoming. It _really_ isn’t a good night for either of them.

“Take your time with it, Shiro,” she encourages. “Breathe. _Heal._ The clone body nearly rejected you, were it not for Keith.”

Just the mention of him leaves Shiro feeling breathless, suckerpunched. Everything after the astral plane has amplified tenfold, and any sort of association with Keith makes Shiro dizzy from the torrent of emotions.

“He’s the best part of me,” he admits.

“Yes,” Allura says, and Shiro is grateful she held his soul, grateful he doesn’t have to explain what Keith is to him, because she already knows. “You’ll tell him, won’t you? That you love him too?”

“…yeah, Allura, I’ll tell him.”

“Don’t wait too long. You might miss your chance.”

“Okay.” And he wonders why she’s the one comforting him when he can see the starshine of tear tracks on her face. “How are you doing, Princess?”

“Please,” she says softly, weary, “no titles tonight.”

“Allura, then,” Shiro says gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly? Awful.”

Shiro knows that, but the confirmation stings all the same. “How come?”

Silence. Then, “Lotor.”

“You loved him.” It isn’t a question.

Allura’s eyes are glazed over as she looks out onto the city. The air has to be too cold for her, especially in the thin nightclothes she wears, but she does not shiver. It’s almost as though Shiro is watching a ghost.

“In another lifetime,” Allura says, “perhaps we might have been betrothed. Perhaps we might have married.”

“You would have had beautiful children,” Shiro agrees. “All with long white hair.”

Allura looks at him, and then she reaches out to touch his own. “Like starlight,” she murmurs.

It isn’t the first time he’s held her hand, but as he takes it now, all Shiro can think of is how different it is. Because previously it had been when she was overtired and trying to be their leader. Now, it’s because she is mourning and vulnerable.

She’s never been small, especially next to him, but she _feels_ tiny in his arms as he cradles her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Tell him, Shiro,” Allura says as she shakes.

Shiro reads the regret in her tone, in her posture. _Don’t miss your chance too._

“I’ll tell him, Allura.”

— S —

The morning dawns in a shock of orange and yellow, and when the sky evens out into a watery blue, Shiro pads out into the corridors to track down Keith. He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, feeling like he was drowning in the sheets. The four walls felt like a prison.

The wind is slight, and Shiro watches it play with the lavender-coloured trees as he wanders around the castle, before he decides to give in and steps onto the grass. The blades are cool beneath his bare feet and Shiro digs his toes in, breathing in deep.

The Galran war ships were metal, and if the Castle of Lions had a garden, then Shiro never saw it. It’s been years since he felt grass and earth beneath his feet.

Before him are miles and miles of sloping champagne pink hills and a sprawling city beyond them. Lona and Pali are warm on his face and the humidity of Khane prickles at the back of his neck, but Shiro can’t stop the smile that stretches over his mouth. For once it doesn’t feel like someone had to hold him still and paint it on for him.

And so he runs.

He runs and runs and runs, churning his legs over one another, feeling the shock of each footfall reverberate through him and pushing on in spite of the burn in his lungs. The oxygen in his blood is far too little and Shiro’s head spins but for the first time in forever it’s blissfully empty. It’s so _fucking_ empty and Shiro revels in it, giving in to the encompassing feeling of allowing his body to take him.

The panic from last night has no time to linger, but it does its damned best, coiling around his torso and winding tight. Shiro gulps in another lungful and keeps running; he goes and goes until he can no longer see the city, until all he’s surrounded by is blue sky and pink grass and the _thud thud thud thud thud_ of his heart, the roar of blood in his ears and the shaking of his legs.

And then he falls.

He falls to the ground and he _weeps,_ big heaving sobs that shake him as he kneels in the dirt. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. It just keeps coming and Shiro is helpless to the tide of it as it pours forth, streaming down his face.

Fuck. _Fuck._

It hurts. It _hurts_ as it tears itself out of Shiro, the sense of loss so strong that Shiro has no idea where it begins or ends.

 _Please,_ he thinks as he stains the earth with his grief. _Please make it stop._

— S —

The others are in the lounge together when he returns.

No one mentions if he looks like shit or not, even though Shiro feels like it. Instead Romelle points at Pidge and says in a conspiratorial whisper how their Green Paladin is faring.

“Pidge is trying to get us to Earth.”

“Emphasis on ‘trying’,” Pidge says, frustration coloring her voice. Next to her sits Hunk, chin hooked over her shoulder. He’s the only one she’d ever let near her when she’s in this sort of mood, and a funny feeling flips over in Shiro’s chest at the sight.

“You’re doing fine,” Hunk soothes, always the mediator in their group.

Pidge sniffs and keeps scribbling furiously. Shiro doesn’t know half the things that run through her head, and when she gets into an animated conversation with Hunk, it’s like a different language altogether.

“Have you seen Keith?” he asks Lance.

Lance makes a face that tells Shiro he should know better than to ask, but he jabs a finger towards Keith’s room. “With Allura.”

Shiro weighs up the options. Allura and Keith’s relationship has been tenuous at best throughout their time together, made worse when Keith’s Galra heritage became known. Shiro spent a long time with both sides; with Keith to reassure him, with Allura to encourage forgiveness.

Since they made up, Shiro has watched both of them do their best to salvage their relationship, but he doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to interrupt them or not. In the end, Hunk makes the decision for him, eyeing him up and down.

“Do you want some food, Shiro?”

 _No,_ Shiro thinks, _that’s the last thing I want._

But he nods anyway.

The kitchen they’ve been provided with is just as generous as the rest of their accommodation, with a huge island, a walk-in pantry and enough space for all of them to claim a seat at the bar.

“I had a dig around earlier,” Hunk says conversationally as he pulls items from the cupboards. “And I found some things close to human food so I’ve been experimenting with them. You good with being a guinea pig?”

“I don’t know, Hunk,” Shiro says, unable to help himself, “that’s probably the first time someone’s actually asked me.”

Hunk freezes, then laughs awkwardly. “Fucking _Christ,_ Shiro.” He shakes his head, digs out a set of bowls. “That’s a lot to process, buddy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Can I help?”

And that’s so—so _Hunk,_ Shiro thinks as the Yellow Paladin commands the space around him, so Hunk to offer Shiro food and a sounding board. They all have their ways of comforting, like how Pidge brings out the logic and Allura provides solutions. Hunk’s go-to is always food and a chat.

Shiro doesn’t know how he missed it when Hunk first offered.

“I’m sure whatever you’re making will be therapeutic enough.”

Hunk snorts. “Sure, Shiro. But I meant if you wanted to talk about anything, not if you wanted to eat, ‘cause like, that—” and he pauses to sweep his gaze up and down Shiro, “that’s a given to maintain your build.”

“He kept fit, didn’t he?” Shiro says, aiming for humor and missing by a mile.

This time Hunk doesn’t smile. “We really missed you, Shiro,” he says quietly. “I mean Keith did, of course—that was always going to hurt him. He loves you the most out of all of us."

Shiro stares at the countertop.

"But looking back," Hunk continues, ignorant, "you can see how things weren’t lining up with us and him—with Kuron.”

“Yeah?”

Hunk nods. “Yeah. He was way less levelheaded than you. He even yelled at Lance, once.”

Shiro cringes, because as much as Lance likes to push everyone’s buttons, no one deserves that kind of treatment. “Poor Lance.”

Hunk’s eyebrows raising are his only answer for a while. Then, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re glad you’re back with us.”

It should be time for more gallows humor or something else—anything that isn’t the soft unfolding sensation inside his ribcage.

“Yeah, Hunk. Me too.”

The next minutes are spent watching Hunk work his magic. Of the two things he’s making, one of them is the equivalent of bread, and he’s elbow deep in flour when he says, “Pidge will get us home. I know she will.”

There’s an edge to his tone that tells Shiro otherwise. “I guess we just don’t know what kind of timeline we’re looking at, do we?”

Hunk pauses. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“How long are we going to be here, Hunk?”

Hunk keeps his mouth shut, kneading the dough with a little more vigour than before. “You know, we figured it was gonna be a long journey home anyway. It just might be longer.”

“How long?”

“I mean,” Hunk stammers. “The electrical storm sent us off course by about six or seven phoebs, so that means home is like…”

And Shiro puts it together. “…two years away now.” 

_On top of the three years they’ve been gone,_ his brain reminds him snarkily.

“More or less.” Hunk pauses to put the dough into a bowl, and he doesn’t say, _so five years all up,_ but he doesn’t need to. It’s written all over his face. “But who knows. The technology here isn’t Altean in the slightest, but if Pidge can come up with a way for Allura to create wormholes again, then problem solved!”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Problem _solved.”_ There’s such a tone of finality that Shiro lets it go.

The first thing Hunk started on comes to fruition in the next minutes that follow, and Shiro is biting down onto it when the others join them in the kitchen, enticed by the smell of the dough in the oven. Shiro has never made bread before, but he’s pretty sure that whatever magic thrums through this planet is making everything turn over quicker, because it feels like no time at all has passed.

The first bite is heaven. Flavour bursts on his tongue, coats his mouth. It could almost be a cake, if Shiro squints hard enough.

Lance takes a slice and prods Romelle’s lips with it, and when Hunk comes around and makes Pidge sit and eat, Allura and Keith finally join them.

“Hey,” Keith says, folding into Shiro’s space almost automatically as he touches Shiro’s shoulder in greeting.

Shiro pauses, caught off-guard once again by how easily Keith moves around him now.

 _What did I miss?_ Shiro thinks. _What did you see?_

Shiro has always adored tactile feedback, has always craved Keith’s affection in one way or another, and while this bone-deep want is a new thing, it also feels like a natural progression.

Keith’s nearly instinctive touching, on the other hand, is a different evolution altogether.

“Hey, you,” Shiro says, wishing his mouth wasn’t full.

Despite that, Keith’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they always do when he thinks Shiro is being especially dumb. “Hi.”

Shiro manages to swallow down the mouthful to ask, “What were you talking to Allura about?”

“Getting home,” Keith says. “What did you get up to with Hunk?”

“Nothing,” Shiro admits. “Just sat here and got fed, to be honest.”

“Nice to see you taking a break,” Keith says with a knowing smile.

Jesus _Christ,_ Shiro wants to kiss him, tell him he loves him— _something._

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick. Whatever is bearing down in him is _huge_ and he doesn’t _want_ it right now. “True.”

— S —

The next few movements are spent in a sort of stasis.

Shiro ends up spending a decent amount of time with Allura trying to iron out an alliance of sorts with Queen Hewiti and whatever remains of the Voltron Coalition. The Galra empire crumbled after they followed Lotor into the Quintessence Field, factions turning against one another almost immediately in the bid for the most power.

“Foolish,” Queen Hewiti says, casting a judgemental glance at the recording of bloodshed above their heads.

Allura shudders, looking away. Shiro can’t stomach much of it either, and so it’s a relief when the video loop is closed.

“Have you any way of contacting the Coalition at all?”

“Difficult to say,” Queen Hewiti frowns. “Because of our position and independence in the Galaxy, contact with the rest of the Universe is very limited. It’s been essential for our survival, you see.”

“Pidge will be able to find a way, if she is given the necessary equipment,” Allura says. “She’s the brain of us.”

“Very well.”

The rest of Shiro’s time is spent re-establishing their daily training routine with the Paladins. It’s good, and grounding; the familiarity of it is comforting amongst the tidal wave of anxiety that surges within him every second over not knowing what will happen next. Because the Castle of Lions had that, to some extent, but this new sort of limbo is a different kind of torture. Instead of everything hurtling past at breakneck speed, the slow trickle of time is unpredictable and monotonous and requires much more patience than Shiro possesses.

It’s made worse by only having one arm. Everything is off centre for him, and since there isn’t anything to counteract the weight of his left, more often than not his legs and sides are aching by the time he retires to his room after hours of compensating.

Among it all, Khane continues to be blisteringly hot during the day, courtesy of Lona and Pali, and in the evenings, Rotan’i City comes alive in a kaleidoscope of color and activity.

Lance is the first to drag them all out one night, moaning, “Listen, guys, we’re _guests_ here and I seriously don’t remember the last time we did anything fun. Can we do something _fun?”_

“This _is_ fun,” Pidge scowls, gesturing to her new elaborate screen set-up.

 _“Pidgeon,”_ Lance says emphatically.

 _“Lancelot,”_ Pidge returns snarkily, but Shiro sees the smile on her face when Lance strong-arms her into a hug.

In truth, he doesn’t know if he wants to be among the crowds of people he sees flocking around the night markets, but in the end, it’s worth it to walk with Keith. Always worth it.

Hunk offers his arm to Romelle and escorts her down one lane after Lance and Pidge claim Coran and Allura to check out the electronic section, and then it’s just the two of them.

Shiro wonders if the rest of their family orbit each other as naturally as he does to Keith. Maybe.

“How are you doing?” Keith asks as they walk together, shoulders jostling against each other as they go with the tide.

“Been worse,” Shiro says, and _damn_ him for always aiming for humour when it definitely is not needed.

But that’s the thing about coping mechanisms, isn’t it? People do what they need to cope, and Shiro has never shied away from his less than healthy strategy.

Still, Keith’s mouth has a sad smile wrapped around it. It makes Shiro want to reach out and grasp his hand and ask if he’ll be okay to stick out the rest of tonight surrounded by people. They could go back to the Castle, back to the safety of their rooms. No one would be there, and they wouldn’t have to don these dumb pleasantries and airs.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I know you have.”

Moving forward, Shiro decides, is a funny thing. It leaves a taste in his mouth, something Shiro isn’t sure if pleasant or bitter.

They press on, the smell of grease and oil intensifying the closer they get to the food section.

“What do you want to eat?” Keith asks, and Shiro couldn’t be any further from eating, that’s the last thing he wants to do, but it’s Keith who is offering, and Keith who is looking at him all hopeful and Shiro _can’t_ say _no,_ Keith’s his best boy, of course he’ll eat something.

“Whatever that is,” he says, pointing at a pan that is literally on fire.

“Okay,” Keith says, and the grin he flicks Shiro’s way is truly everything.

They sit together where the crowds are thinner, facing the sea.

“It’s nice here,” Keith muses, tilting his head up so he’s bathed in moonlight. “Cool.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees mindlessly.

“Should go swimming sometime,” Keith suggests.

“I haven’t swum in ages,” Shiro admits.

“I’ll take you,” Keith says. “We can do it together.”

Another mindless, “Yeah.”

Pastry burns Shiro’s fingers, sauce runs down his hand. Keith is smiling at something—no, someone, two kids frolicking in the water, and the planet makes zero sense in Shiro’s mind.

Purple trees, pink grass, blue skies, green water, and two suns and seven moons?

What the fuck.

Nothing like Earth, with its blue skies and green grass and overpopulated cities and oceans full of trash. Nothing like his childhood home with its overabundance of posters and figurines on the wall; nothing like his parents sitting together in the living room watching an old film for his grandma’s benefit.

“God,” he chokes out, nearly laughing from the pain of it. “This has _got_ to get easier.”

He doesn’t look at Keith.

That would hurt too much right now.

“Shiro,” Keith says, hesitating briefly before his hand finds Shiro’s and squeezes it tight. “It will, Shiro, I promise, I—it’s…”

 _Don’t say fine,_ Shiro thinks, because it isn’t fine, _he_ isn’t fine, not by a long shot. Christ, at least when they first stayed on the Castle of Lions, he could manage a decent night’s sleep. Now he can’t even do _that_ properly anymore.

Keith always knows exactly what Shiro needs to hear, though. “These things take time, you said it yourself. Patience—”

“Yields focus,” Shiro finishes, smiling at the memory of a ruddy-faced Keith staring up at Shiro as he uttered the words for the first time.

Maybe he was gone, even then. Maybe he was tied to Keith from the moment he saw him staring out the window in that classroom, and that everything since then has just been a prolonged collapse into inevitability.

“Smart move,” he says ruefully. “Using my words against me.”

“Your _wisdom,”_ Keith corrects, and that’s when Shiro realises they’re both just spit and glue, both hiding behind these facades of being okay. “You always help me, Shiro, always. I’m just trying to even the score.”

“There’s no score to even, Keith. I’d do it all over again if I could.”

Keith scrunches his nose up at Shiro, clearly uncomfortable. “Seriously, _listen_ to yourself.”

“I try not to,” Shiro says. “I say a lot of shit.”

Keith laughs then, like it was startled out of him, and the hulking mass of tension building around them shatters. Shiro digs into his food again.

— S —

A phoeb passes.

The nights stay long, the days stay hot. Shiro decides that running will be his new way to torture himself, and then talks himself into it every morning by saying that at least he gets to pick the torture this time.

When he tells Keith it offhandedly, a joke, Keith shakes his head.

“Take me with you next time?”

Not what Shiro was expecting, but he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever Keith will give him, because seriously, how does Keith put up with him?

So they go running the next morning, Keith’s cheeks turning ruby red by the end, and as they sit on the pink grass recovering, Shiro wishes he was brave enough to say what Allura told him to.

He doesn’t.

Khane begins to glow bright turquoise at night for a while, a sign of the season changing, Shiro learns, and when the glow fades to a periwinkle blue, he gets a new prosthetic. Allura beams when she tells him, and Pidge is grinning like the mad scientist she is as she fits the arm for him, but it’s Keith who makes Shiro cry.

Keith doesn’t say anything the whole time they’re calibrating the arm to Shiro’s motor cortices, but afterwards, he runs his fingers over the panelling of Shiro’s wrist.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” he says quietly, eyes glued to the blue LEDs.

Will they ever be anything more than this? Anything more than apologies stacked upon each other?

 _I love you,_ Shiro thinks, but it’s still not the right time. So he laces his fingers with Keith’s instead and tries to put everything he’s feeling into the gesture, tries to smile despite his blurry eyes.

“No score,” he reminds him.

“No score,” Keith agrees, and if Shiro’s tears slip free, well. Keith has definitely seen him at worse times.

For the next three days, it rains. It rains and rains and rains, water sluicing down the windows of the Eastern Wing. Puddles turn into lakes and Shiro wakes and falls asleep to the tinkering sound of raindrops hitting the balustrade.

On Rhotapu, a storm rolls in.

The seven of them run around in it, stomping their feet in the puddles, and there’s something in the energy of it, something that makes Shiro feel as though he is finally coming alive after years of slumber. Keith is laughing as Hunk scoops him up into a bear hug and Allura is smiling as she holds hands with Pidge and Romelle and it feels _good_ to have this little bubble in time.

 _“Ugh,”_ Lance says as he flops down next to Shiro under cover. “I’m _exhausted.”_

“Sounds like you need to work on your cardio,” Shiro teases, breathless himself.

_“No.”_

“It’ll be good for you,” Shiro says, and then he’s offering before he can think about it properly, “Come running with me and Keith in the morning.”

Lance tilts his head at Shiro and the look on his face says he’d much rather not. “Cardio is from the devil and I don’t feel like third wheeling.”

Shiro’s mouth opens and closes. There must be something magical in the rain; his lips are tingling with it. “You wouldn’t be third wheeling anything.”

Lance frowns and shakes his head, a smile on his face as if to say, ‘don’t be ridiculous’. “Shiro, I’ve got _eyes._ It’s okay.”

Heat creeps onto Shiro’s cheeks. “I’m not really sure _what_ you’re talking about but thank you for the reassurance, regardless.”

“Oh man,” Lance says. “I’m just saying, you and Keith have your little close bond thing going on and I’m okay with _not_ being the only one in the audience.”

“Thing?”

Lance actually frowns then, looking at Shiro like he’s grown a second head. “I… _yeah,_ Shiro, that _thing_ where you two stare at each other from across the room at any given moment.”

And that… that’s actually not a false observation. As if to prove the point, his eyes find Keith, still dancing in the rain, and Keith finds him too. The smile he gifts Shiro with could burn diamonds.

Shiro wants it to destroy him.

“Exactly,” Lance drawls.

“Lance…” Shiro trails off, struggling to find the words. It’s a lie, a complete lie, the sentence that he comes up with: “Yes, Keith and I are closer, but we’re just friends.”

Lance nods, clapping a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Sure, Shiro. Totally not in love with each other, got it.”

Before Shiro can attempt another rebuttal, Lance flops down completely. Water stains the concrete around him, blooming out. Shiro tries and fails at not comparing it to a bloodstain.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Lance’s eyes are so blue compared to the stormy grey above them. “You two are lucky, you know? You’ve got each other.”

“We all do,” Shiro says, trying for diplomacy again.

It’s true, though. He loves his paladins but there’s nothing quite like what he and Keith have. Nothing whatsoever.

“I’ve got your back, Hunk does, Pidge does. We’re a family, you know that.”

“I know you do,” Lance sighs. “I wasn’t talking about you guys.” His eyes stray to Allura squealing as Keith and Hunk pick her up.

 _We’re both fools,_ Shiro thinks, watching the wistful expression take over Lance’s face. _Fools in love._

“That old chestnut, huh?” Shiro remarks in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“Yeah,” Lance answers sulkily.

Shiro understands. Pining is the _worst._

“I just want to be good enough for her,” Lance says. “She does so much for us.”

And Shiro doesn’t have anything to say to that without feeling like a hypocrite, so he settles for, “Give it time, Lance. People come together one way or another. You usually have an idea when the one you’re interested in likes you back.”

“Yeah,” Lance snorts, sitting back up again quickly enough that Shiro feels a head rush just looking. “Usually.”

The pointed look he gives Shiro makes Shiro feel ten different kinds of embarrassed, and so does his sighed, “Just tell him you’re in love with him already,” but then he’s off into the rain again before Shiro can rebut him.

Fair enough.

— S —

Lona and Pali make a watery appearance a movement later, fragile egg yolks among the grey sky. Keith joins him for their morning run and asks if they should spar instead.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Shiro says.

He tries not to wince at the reminder of the last time they grappled together. _That_ wasn’t fun and games like any of their times before, it was sweat and blood and the desperate roar in Shiro’s ears as Keith begged him to stop.

Keith hesitates, then admits, “I don’t know.”

It doesn’t sit right in Shiro’s rib cage. “Some other time,” he offers, wanting to say, _never again._

Because he misses sparring, the push and pull of it, the way no words are needed. He doesn’t miss the smell of burning flesh or Keith crying out underneath him.

Shiro’s eyes sting, his throat closes up. “Another time,” he coughs.

“Yeah,” Keith says.

They leave it alone and run.

Shiro’s lungs burn and his legs ache and he hates the entire thing. Practice makes perfect apparently, but all Shiro feels like doing is literally anything else. He spends most of the time watching the way Keith’s hair flies about his face and wanting to push it behind Keith’s ears.

Shiro asked him once if he’d cut his hair, and Keith had recoiled like he’d been hit.

“The Galra,” he explained as Shiro fought to explain himself, hurting over the reaction. “Especially Marmorans, and my mom’s tribe—they like to braid their hair.”

It made Shiro think of Kolivan, and how he always wore his hair in a braid, regardless of the day. He’d never seen it loose.

“Ah,” he said, searching for tact. And then, an apology, “That’s really cool, Keith. You’d look good in a braid.”

“I’d look good in anything, thank you very much,” Keith sniffed with all the airs and graces of Allura when she’d been particularly put out by some dignitary, but the way he looked at Shiro afterwards belied his insecurity.

So Shiro said, “Yeah,” eyes flitting over Keith’s form, noting all the places he’d grown and filled out, wondering when it had happened, wondering why it ached to look at, a full bodied one that started in his heart and spread outwards. “Yeah, you do.”

The memory plays over in Shiro’s mind on loop the entire run.

They sit together on the grass afterward, hearts calming. Keith pulls his hair free of its band and begins to weave it into a braid, and Shiro thinks, _fuck it._

“Keith?”

Keith’s eyes flick to him, cheeks red. Shiro wants to kiss them. “What’s up?”

“Will you teach me how to do that?”

“What, braiding?”

“No, breathing,” Shiro teases. “Yes, braiding.”

Keith kicks him with his foot. “Jerk.”

Shiro catches him around the ankle, uses the grip to pull Keith closer to him until his legs are halfway across Shiro’s lap. Keith comes with a yelp, whacking Shiro’s arm half heartedly but not putting up much of a fight. The notion that he trusts Shiro like so sets a very deep warmth in the bottom of Shiro’s stomach.

There’s so much hurt between them, to have Keith give him this is nearly too much.

“Teach me?” he asks again, still holding Keith’s ankle.

He can feel the pulse there, the way Keith’s heartbeat is rabbit-quick, and he runs a thumb over it in an attempt to soothe him.

“Why?”

“Because I want to?”

Keith’s eyes soften. He looks ten different kinds of amazing, sprawled on the grass, hair splayed around him. Shiro’s mouth goes dry.

“Sure,” Keith says. “If you let go of my foot.”

“Right,” Shiro says, breathless for some reason, but even then it still takes him two goes to relent his grasp.

Keith situates himself in front of Shiro, crossing his legs underneath him. “It’s pretty simple,” he says conversationally, as if Shiro isn’t the most competitive person he knows and wants to be the best at braiding already. “You just weave over and under.”

“Seems simple enough.”

“Exactly,” Keith says. The flush is still sitting on his cheeks. Shiro still wants to kiss him. “You’re a genius, you’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense,” Shiro points out. “I just know how to fly.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I _was_ missing an arm for a decent amount of time there.”

Keith makes a face. “You know I hate you sometimes.”

“You _love_ me,” Shiro corrects, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he follows Keith’s instructions, and it’s too close too close too close—

“Yeah,” Keith says quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

Shiro keeps his eyes on Keith’s hair, terrified of glancing up.

_Tell him you love him._

He can’t.

— S —

The wet season begins to fade again and with it goes the humidity. Khane’s climate progresses at a far quicker rate than the other planets they’ve been on, and so one day it’s pouring with rain, the next it’s blue skies and enough flowers for Pidge to whine and hole herself up in the castle.

The Khori have given her everything she’s requested so far, and as a result—after many quintants of watching Pidge wreck her already abysmal sleeping schedule and Hunk attempt to keep her fed—from Rhohina, the Lions are able to be charged in the main hangar.

They’ve been on reserve energy for so long, Shiro knows the paladins are itching to get their Lions together and form Voltron. There’s only so much other kinds of training can do.

Allura’s eyes well up as the process takes place, and then she touches Red’s snout before Coran approaches and she hugs him in turn.

It’s not fair, Shiro thinks, the way the two of them were thrown into this war. It’s not fair that the one slice of comfort and culture Allura found in Lotor was stripped from her. It’s not fair to any of them that they’re thousands of lightyears from their homes.

It’s not fair.

“At last,” she tells him, a hand landing on Shiro’s forearm.

“Baby steps,” Shiro reminds her.

“Patience yields focus,” Keith echoes.

Shiro looks at him, takes in the way he’s braided the side of his hair, and pulls him into a hug. He can see Allura’s attention shifting to the other paladins, which suits him perfectly. He’s not quite willing to let go of Keith yet.

“Shiro,” Keith says, low and pleasing as he burrows closer.

He smells like his deodorant, like comfort, like home. Shiro tightens his grasp, tears threatening.

 _Let me have this,_ he thinks, to no one in particular.

— S —

The Paladins form Voltron two quintants later. Shiro watches them soar overhead with Romelle and Queen Hewiti, the bitter sweetness staining his tongue. He couldn’t be prouder of Keith, of all of them, but he misses Black.

She’s the one who saved his quintessence and kept him safe all those phoebs. She’s the one who let Keith pilot her, who rescued both of them from the facility, who let Allura take him back and put him into this clone body.

“Outstanding,” Queen Hewiti says in wonder, watching the team fly into a complicated formation with the sword.

“Thank you for your generosity,” Shiro says.

“Thank you for your service,” she returns.

The flowers fade. Shiro keeps up his running. His lungs burn, his legs ache, his heart feels like it will beat out of his chest. Keith joins him every morning without fail, and in the aftermath, they sit in the long grass and watch the day begin.

Shiro loves those times he gets to spend with Keith and only Keith, loves the way Keith rubs his eyes sleepily, loves the way he lets Shiro try braiding his hair in different styles.

They both pore over the Galra-specific designs Keith finds on his tablet, dedicating each new day to a new technique until Shiro’s fingers stop shaking and do what he wants.

“Thanks for letting me do this, by the way,” he tells Keith on a pink champagne morning. 

“Helps your hand,” Keith shrugs. “Keeps my hair out of my face.”

Shiro wants to tackle him into the grass and hold him close until the bubbling sensation in his chest bursts.

He settles for brushing a stray hair behind Keith’s ear instead, and relishes the way Keith’s cheeks turn a matching color to the day around them.

One day he’ll be brave enough to tell this beautiful man how much he means to him.

One day.

Except that one day takes its time. Another movement ticks over and there’s still no easy solution for getting home. 

When a cold snap finds them in the next movement, it brings with it a change in mood. It’s not a good one. Shiro finds himself having less patience, and the others are more and more restless with each passing quintant.

“Why can’t we just power home in the Lions?” Lance suggests. “They’re charging to full capacity now.”

“Right,” Pidge drawls. “Because of Khane’s magic. And what exactly do you propose we do when we’re a year into the journey with no way to charge them after going helter skelter?”

“Okay _fine,”_ Lance sighs, slinking off. 

Hunk swivels his best ‘stern’ face onto Pidge. Out of everyone, he seems to be the least affected. “Just a suggestion, Pidge.”

Pidge scowls. “Are you going to solder that or am I going to have to?”

“Still just a suggestion,” Hunk says breezily, flicking his goggles back on.

Shiro can deal with the Paladins being catty with each other, and he can deal with his own negative thoughts. He doesn’t like dealing with it from Keith, though.

The day starts as any other one; he sleeps incredibly poorly, trains with the paladins after breakfast, and is in a conference with Queen Hewiti and her council by midday. It’s only in the afternoon that it all comes crashing down.

He finds Keith on his way back to their quarters, except Keith is heading the opposite way towards the main halls.

“Hey,” he says. “Thought we were running after dinner.”

And then he catches onto it as he’s walking over to Keith.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Keith bites out, doing an exceptionally poor job of persuading Shiro that he’s fine.

“Talk to me?”

“No,” Keith says. “And we’re not running, we’re sparring.”

Shiro stops in his tracks. It’s a terrible idea. It’s an even more terrible idea to try and talk Keith down when he’s in _this_ kind of mood, especially considering it’s been a while since he was ever this close to losing it.

“I don’t want to fight you, Keith.”

“We’re not fighting,” Keith snaps. “We’re sparring.”

Shiro clicks his tongue, tries again. “I don’t want to spar with you either.”

“Why?” Keith challenges, eyes wild with anger. “Scared?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, fighting to keep his voice even. “Terrified.”

For some reason he expects Keith to come flying at him with fists then, or something physical. He’s lost count of the amount of times the two of them would go at it on the sparring mats at the Garrison. Keith never had words when he was angry, just the simple language of letting everything out with his hands. It worked for Shiro.

But Keith doesn’t do that now.

Instead his face scrunches up like he swallowed something bitter, and then to Shiro’s horror, he sees Keith’s eyes filling with tears.

_Shit._

“Keith?” he asks, holding his hands up, trying to calm his best friend. “Come on, let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Keith spits.

“And I don’t want to spar,” Shiro repeats, watching the anger in Keith’s face fade into something like hurt. “Tell me what’s really wrong.” Keith’s shoulders sag. He won’t look at Shiro. “Keith, _please.”_

Violet eyes find Shiro’s. “Why isn’t it better?” Keith says hoarsely. “Why is it _still_ like this? I’m so fucking tired of feeling like this.”

Shiro wants to ask what ‘it’ is, and figures it doesn’t need explaining anyway. 

So he steps closer into Keith’s space. “Hey,” he says gently. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know which sin he’s apologising for at this point. Keith’s eyes are still fiery, but he doesn’t shy away when Shiro reaches for his hand. He lets Shiro lead them back to their quarters like that.

Lona and Pali are setting again, casting the castle in a peach orange hue as they walk. Keith says nothing the whole time, doesn’t protest when they reach Shiro’s room. Shiro takes the silence at face value and doesn’t overthink it, just nudges Keith over to the bed.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Shiro says, squatting down in front of him and taking his other hand. “But I’d like to.”

Keith huffs a short, bitter bark. “There’s so much shit going on in my head, Shiro. I don’t even know where to start.”

Shiro shrugs, feeling like he’s grasping at straws. “Whatever comes to your mind first?”

Keith just stares behind Shiro, at the meadows beyond the balcony. His hands are so warm in Shiro’s, and it takes a considerable amount of effort not to bring them to his mouth and offer comfort that way. He used to watch his father do so with his mother whenever she was upset.

“Keith… those things…” Shiro says, trying to catch Keith’s gaze. At least Keith hasn’t withdrawn from his touch, hands still in Shiro’s. Shiro doesn’t know if he’d survive if Keith pulled away. “... that you’re carrying? Don’t. Share them with me.”

“Shiro.”

“You say you’re there for whatever I need, it’s the same with me. You’re so important to me, Keith. Let me help.” And he almost says, ‘baby’, almost ruins everything with one word.

“You know sometimes,” Keith spits, and it hurts Shiro, to see him hurl these shards around so carelessly, “sometimes I just don’t want to wake up.”

Shiro’s eyes burn. His chest does, too. The shard has pierced him right through. “Keith…”

But Keith laughs then, and this time it feels like nails scraping down a chalkboard with how horrible it sounds. It makes the wound in Shiro’s chest ache more and he’s so fucking _sick_ of hurting.

“I’m so sad, Shiro,” Keith says softly.

There needs to be another word to use, because ‘sad’ doesn’t begin to cover it.

“I know…”

“I’m so fucking _sad.”_

It’s like someone has reached into Shiro’s chest and pulled his heart free and is squeezing the life out of it.

 _Please don’t cry,_ Shiro thinks. It’s selfish of him, no matter how much he wishes it. He’s seen Keith angry and hurt and upset countless times, and they’re all awful, all scrape against his bones. But Keith like this? Shiro would rather be burned alive.

“You know what’s the worst part?” Keith scoffs.

“What?”

“Sometimes I don’t want to get better. Because I don’t know who I am without it.”

And then he _does_ cry, and it isn’t like a monsoon or a storm or anything ferocious like Shiro expects. No, it’s like the slow build of unexpected rain: droplets, growing bigger and louder with each second.

“I’m sorry,” Keith sniffs.

“Don’t,” Shiro says, and maybe it’s too harsh but it’s hard for him too, seeing Keith like this. “It’s okay.” He bites his lip. “Can I hold you?”

Keith sobs, a full bodied one that looks like it was wrestled from him, and then just nods. It’s all the permission Shiro needs.

He’s on the bed in a heartbeat, hauling Keith into his arms. “Oh, Keith,” he murmurs into Keith’s midnight hair, cradling his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so _tired.”_

Shiro understands. He's tired too. Tired of waking up. Tired of living. Tired of… this. All of this.

And then Keith begins to _really_ cry, curling into himself. He soaks Shiro’s shirt with tears, utters sounds that make Shiro wonder if he could drown in them. There’s nothing to be done, he knows. Things like these are like fevers: they have to run their course. It doesn’t make it any easier though.

So he murmurs things to Keith, like how proud he is, and how it will all be better eventually, and how sorry he is. The suns are long gone beyond the horizon by the time Keith’s shaking slows. It takes Shiro a moment to realise he’s fallen asleep.

 _Darling,_ he thinks, not wanting to let go but also wanting Keith to be comfortable. He’ll wake up with a sore neck if Shiro keeps holding him in this position.

Logo shines a path through the open window onto the bed, playing with the shadows on Keith’s face as Shiro carefully places him on his back. He looks peaceful like that, laid out on the mattress. The room is cold enough to warrant two blankets, both of which Shiro tucks in extra vigilantly, and then Shiro pushes the hair from Keith’s eyes, wanting to lean down and kiss his forehead.

“Rest,” he murmurs instead.

— S —

It’s a dream.

It’s a dream, because Shiro is floating, flying above the ground with wings and claws. It’s a dream, because Allura is with him and she’s winding her arms around his neck, she’s pressing a kiss to his cheek, she’s whispering in his ear.

“This is not your end,” she tells him. “This is your rebirth.”

And then he’s falling to the ground, it’s rising to meet him, and there’s a body beneath him, a body of someone he hates. And he’s being punched back into that body, and his eyes are snapping open and the face above him is beautiful.

And everything stings hurts bleeds but that face—

It’s like syrup in his veins, sticky sweet, healing everything that’s broken within him.

The room is too dark when Shiro opens his eyes. His chest is too heavy. His legs are too weak.

He cries, then, wanting everything to stop being so much for once.

It feels stupid, sitting in the emptiness of himself, of his room, but Shiro can’t bring himself to stop. Tears drip down his chin and he rubs at them angrily, feeling like a hypocrite. Of all people, he knows healing isn’t linear. Just yesterday he reprimanded Keith for being so impatient with the process.

But that’s so Keith, too. Always stubborn, always seeking to never be a burden. Always saving Shiro, always healing him. They’re two sides of the same coin.

When the horrible clutch around his heart eventually relents, twenty minutes hours years later, Shiro leaves.

The Galra ships were always four walls and recycled oxygen. Shiro doesn’t want to dredge up _that_ trauma as well. So he steals outside, into the open nighttime Khane air.

Pidge’s light is on, and Shiro contemplates leaving her alone before deciding he has nothing to lose. If Pidge wants him gone, she can always say so.

The door opens when he knocks.

“Hey, Pidge,” Shiro greets cautiously, stepping into the Green Paladin’s room.

She’s transformed the place into a makeshift lab, but it’s still impressive. “Shiro,” Pidge says in her usual clipped tone that really says, _what do you want?_

She’s always been the more abrasive sibling.

“Came to see what you were up to.”

Pidge appraises him over her glasses. “Usual science-y stuff.”

“Yeah?” Shiro says, taking the lack of requests to leave as a good enough sign to sit down at the bench. “Want to confuse me even more?”

Pidge looks at him like maybe he’s got three or four heads, and then shakes her head. “What are you running from this time?”

Shiro contemplates the smooth surface of the table, runs his palm over it. He’s barely their leader anymore but it still wars within him, this horrible feeling of being vulnerable.

“Just a bad dream,” he manages to say, and it even that feels like an overshare.

Pidge isn’t looking at him, focus directed at the screen in front of her instead. It’s a relief. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Shiro makes a face. “No.”

“Fair,” Pidge says. Her fingers fly over the keyboard.

“What about you?” Shiro asks gently. “Why are you up so late?”

“Because I don’t sleep.”

Well, Shiro didn’t need to be told that. The dark circles under Pidge’s eyes are even worse than his. He doesn’t answer straight away. Sometimes silence is the best thing, and he knows Pidge wants to talk more, knows she’s unsure if it’s okay to.

Pidge’s nose twitches. “And this data won’t sort itself.”

Shiro doesn’t even _know_ what the stuff on her screen means. “I’d help but stats was never my strong point.”

Pidge barks out a laugh. “This isn’t even stats, Shiro.”

“I know,” Shiro says. “Just wanted to make you smile. It’s been a while.”

Pidge’s eyes stay glued to the screen. The mood shifts, instantly weighed down from a simple sentence.

“I just… I just _miss_ everyone,” Pidge says finally and _oh no,_ Shiro can see her eyes welling up. “I miss my family and Bebe and _Matt._ It’s been so long since I saw them all.”

“We’ll get there, Pidge.” Shiro says gently. “You know it’s not so long ago that I didn’t think I’d see Earth again. But I did. And we’re on this weird, crazy space adventure, with magical robots and planets that are straight from a sci-fi flick.”

Pidge nods, wiping at her eyes furiously. “Dumb. This is all so dumb.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, before standing and coming around the bench.

Pidge, for all her prickliness and sarcastic humour, is an absolute animal when it comes to hugs and she lets Shiro haul her up into one. Shiro doesn’t mind the snot she leaves on his shirt. 

“You’ll see your brother again,” he says.

Pidge nods again, and they both drift for a while in the thought of Matt with his numbers and over enthusiastic rants and his serenades to his droids.

“You know he used to talk about you all the time,” Pidge snickers, face blotchy. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you but instead here we are.”

“Here we are,” Shiro says, tightening his arms around her.

“Weird,” Pidge says. “But, thanks, for this.”

“Glad I knocked,” Shiro says truthfully. “You know I’m here for you.”

“I know. One of the first times you spoke to me was when we were finding Green, and you said my dad’s favourite quote. It meant a lot.”

The memory echoes in Shiro’s head: _if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss the chance to do something great._

“Was just trying to help,” he manages. “You looked so much like your brother, I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“It didn’t.” Pidge pulls back in his arms suddenly, and her eyes aren’t quite dry but they’re getting there, and that’s what’s important. “You know what’s funny? The way Matt used to go on about you, I used to think he was in love with you.”

 _“Matt?”_ Shiro repeats, because _no way._ Matt loved his computers and androids too much.

“Shut up,” Pidge flaps her hand. “I know it’s dumb, that was before I met Keith, okay?”

And just the mention of him makes all the thoughts in Shiro’s head fly away. “What do you mean?”

“He talks about you _all_ the time,” Pidge says. “He flew through a wormhole into some unknown quadrant to save you. The way he _looks_ at you—”

Shiro holds his hands up, ears burning. “Pidge—”

“Have you told him?” she demands anyway. “Does he know you love him too?”

Shiro stares at her.

He has _no_ idea how to address that question, no idea how to explain what’s gone on between the facility and now. But Pidge has that _look_ where she’s finally hooked her claws into a solution and she isn’t going to let it go until she is victorious. Such a stubborn paladin.

“I see the way you talk to each other. He’s the only thing in the room for you.”

“No, Pidge,” Shiro admits quietly, heat creeping up his neck. “I haven’t told him.”

“You should,” she says fiercely. “It’s clear as daylight.”

“I don’t know, daylight is more bright than clear,” Shiro points out, because he can.

Pidge whacks his arm, and says, “Dickhead,” before bursting into laughter when Shiro tickles her in retaliation.

Shiro laughs with her, the bubbly happiness rising in him without abandon. It’s so strange to be alive. He feels like he could break apart at any given moment and yet there’s pockets in time like these, where the hurt of isn’t so raw, where it takes a backseat to something like this: joy.

“Tell him, Shiro,” Pidge urges, and Shiro’s been here before, with Allura, with Lance.

“I will.”

He will.

— S —

Festivals aren’t Shiro’s favourite.

After the night market experience, it just seems like he’s testing his already tenuous grip on his mental health. But the entirety of Khane stops for Harangi Festival.

And Allura says it will be a good break from the routine they’ve built for themselves. And Hunk wants to try out the food. Across the room, Keith finds Shiro’s gaze.

“Maybe they’ll have games,” he says lightly.

It’s a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

“Maybe I’ll let you win,” Shiro grins.

It begins with a light show.

They stand on the beach with the rest of the crowd and watch the sky explode into colours. People press in on every side and it’s an effort for Shiro to keep his breaths even, to stay focused on the stars.

Next to him, Keith presses close, until he’s a solid grounding line of heat along Shiro’s side. Shiro turns his head, nuzzles Keith’s hair.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“I’ve got you,” Keith murmurs.

 _Yeah,_ Shiro thinks. _You always do._

It’s the most bizarre meteor shower Shiro has ever witnessed, full of greens and pinks and blues, an entire kaleidoscope that Shiro figures is very on brand for such a confusing planet as Khane. It’s beautiful.

Hunk tilts his head back in wonder. “Are you guys _seeing_ this? This is crazy, this is nothing like the ones back home.”

“It must be nice,” Romelle says, looking up at the stars, “to have a home. The colony ceased to be one when Bandor left.”

Out the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Keith’s brow soften.

“Hey,” he says quietly, touching her forearm. “It’ll be your home too, Romi.”

Shiro glances away. He feels like an intruder.

“Close your eyes and make a wish,” Lance says, eyes trained on the latest cerulean trail.

“What will you wish for?” Romelle asks.

“You can’t _tell_ people,” Lance says. “It won’t come true otherwise.”

Pidge snipes at him to wish for something useful, like finding a way home, and then it dissolves into them bickering about the supposed conditions of wish-making. In the end, when the meteor shower is petering out above their heads, Hunk claps a hand around Lance’s mouth to shut him up, and Romelle and Allura charm Pidge into joining them on their search for jewellery.

And then it’s just Shiro and Keith.

 _We’re like planets,_ Shiro thinks, _the way we’re always in each other’s orbit._

Keith smiles at him tiredly, reaches for his wrist. He curls his fingers around Shiro’s palm, squeezes it.

It’s almost like holding hands again.

Almost, until Keith lets go.

“You doing okay?”

Shiro looks at the others heading in their separate directions, then back at Keith. The crowd is dispersing around them, heading towards the various stalls. Shiro knows they should follow.

He doesn’t have it in him. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

They don’t join the festivities. Instead Keith takes them along the same route they run every morning, hands tucked into his pockets.

Stars still fly overhead, the planet casting a pretty blue glow on Keith’s face. It makes the purple of his eyes darker, nearly black, and Shiro has to blink and ask Keith to repeat himself.

“I never got to thank you,” Keith says, “for the other day.”

Oh. Okay. So they’re talking about this now. Shiro grits his teeth against the new wave of anxiety that washes over him.

“You know you didn’t have to.”

Keith shrugs, watching the ground. “Thought you’d say something like that. But, thank you. The whole… I woke up and you were gone and I never got to tell you.”

The image of Keith waking up alone weighs heavily on Shiro’s mind. “I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Keith says, looking like he wants to burn a hole in the grass beneath their feet. “I was angry and pushing you to do something triggering.”

“It’s understandable,” Shiro offers weakly.

Keith shakes his head. “It's really not. So I'm sorry." He pauses, and then asks in a small voice, "Are we okay?"

It’s all wrong. 

“Keith, what?” Shiro trails off, searching for words that don’t feel like dropping bombs. “Keith, I tried to kill you,” he says carefully, hating the acknowledgement, the reminder. “There’s nothing… of course we're okay, you could never hurt me." He smiles bitterly. "I don’t deserve you.”

It has the opposite effect that Shiro wants.

Keith’s eyes are wet, and then he’s crying again and it’s all Shiro’s fault.

“Don't say that,” he says, hoarse. “You _do_ deserve, you saved me first, we…”

Shiro watches him, the ache inside him blocking everything else out. It doesn’t have to be this hard, surely. But it _feels_ like it, and Shiro’s tearing up now too.

He laughs. “I'm sorry."

Keith chuckles too, sniffs loudly and groans. "We're really fucked, aren't we?"

Shiro can't stop the stupid tears, can't stop laughing at the ridiculous picture they make: two broken people trying to one up each other on apologies.

"Come here," he pleads, wanting to hold Keith in his arms, but Keith is already there, already flinging his arms around Shiro's neck.

The words he buries in Shiro's hair sounds a lot like an 'I love you', but Shiro's too afraid to confirm it.

— S —

The breakthrough finally comes in the next movement. They all hear Pidge’s scream, and then they hear her crying, and by the time they’ve all crashed into her lab, Hunk is already there, petting her head.

“I got contact with the Coalition,” she sobs. “Green—like before—” and then she dissolves into more sobs.

Allura kisses the top of her head, as does Hunk and Romelle, and by the time Shiro gets to hug her, they’re all a little wobbly around the edges.

“Knew you could do it,” Lance grins at her.

“Never doubted it,” Pidge sniffs.

Shiro doesn’t completely understand the science of it, but that’s okay. He’s a pilot, not an engineer, and even then, space magic has its own rules and regulations.

All he knows is that their time on Khane is finally becoming worth it.

“We could go home,” Hunk says in wonder, staring at the horizon.

“It’s been so long,” Lance agrees.

Keith, who’s been quiet this entire time, is watching the rest of them. "Home sounds good."

“Yeah,” Shiro says, looking at Keith and thinking of planets and stars, thinking of the way they orbit each other.

Keith leaves the room then, slips out while everyone else is too busy crowding around Pidge’s console to listen to her explain the next step. Shiro watches him go, then follows, helpless not to.

Keith turns his head slightly when he notices Shiro following him, but he doesn’t stop walking to explain where they’re going. And that’s okay.

It feels like they’ve been waiting for a step in the right direction for so long now, to finally have one makes everything else seem unimportant.

Shiro will follow Keith anywhere.

Keith steps down onto the grass, wandering further out under the starry sky until he reaches a point to sit at. His hair is falling into his eyes and he looks like he didn’t get enough sleep, as usual.

 _This feels like home,_ Shiro thinks. _I’m home when I’m with you._

“Hey,” Keith says softly.

“Hey,” Shiro says, the gaping wound in his chest aching a little further with the way Keith is looking at him. 

“Doesn’t feel real, does it?”

Shiro shakes his head. “No.”

Keith smiles at him, a small sad one. “It’s weird, you know? Like I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I know,” Shiro says, because he gets it.

Keith has never wanted to believe in things too much, has always been too hurt by the world. But he’s never doubted Shiro, has given himself to Shiro time and time again, and that’s what Shiro is thinking of as he puts his hands either side of Keith and crawls over him.

Keith watches him approach, leaning back slightly when Shiro’s face is too close to be friendly. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Shiro says, and he means it.

Because this is an inevitable collision, in hindsight. One that Shiro has definitely seen coming, one he's chosen not to acknowledge. Maybe it's to atone for his sins, a last-ditch attempt to get rid of the lingering guilt he has over Keith’s selflessness for him.

And he tucks his face against Keith’s shoulder, wraps his arm around him and holds him as close as he can.

“Oh,” Keith says quietly, sinking into the hug.

And from there it’s the easiest thing to push Keith onto his back, to follow him down, until they’re flush against one another in the long grass with the stars overhead and the taste of hope on their tongues.

There’s no space between them, and it’s good, it’s so good, almost _too_ good. Because it shouldn’t catch Shiro offguard when Keith’s legs spread to accommodate his hips, when their hips meet, but it does, it really fucking does.

So much so that when Keith’s fingers alight on his rib cage, Shiro can’t suppress the full body shiver that goes through him.

Keith pauses, reading it wrong. “Still okay?”

Shiro catches his wrist. “Stay,” he pleads.

Keith nods. His voice breaks a little on the next sentence. “Yeah, Shiro, of course. Of course I will.”

He’s warm and strong underneath Shiro, and it’s odd to be here like this, without the terror from their fight climbing the back of his throat. Maybe it’s the temperature. Maybe it’s the idea that they’ll be able to go home again.

Maybe it’s just Keith.

Either way, Shiro basks in the rise and fall of Keith’s chest underneath him, in the way he noses Shiro’s cheek.

“Thought I set you off,” Keith admits quietly, hands drawing circles on Shiro’s back.

“Not quite,” Shiro says.

He could kiss him, here, like this. He could press his mouth to Keith’s, and maybe Keith would let him, maybe Keith would roll over and push him into the grass and kiss him back as the day died around them. The light from the rising moon is blue like the crystal in Shiro’s arm, blue like the balmera, bluer than the entire damned Kotan’i City.

He could.

He doesn’t, though.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he says, staring at the starshine in Keith’s eyes. Sometimes if the light catches them right, Shiro can find whole constellations in them.

“Galra thing, maybe,” Keith had said when Shiro first pointed it out.

 _Maybe,_ Shiro thinks, sweeping his thumb across Keith’s cheek, right over that mark he placed on it. “Anything you wanted.”

“Really?” Keith says. Any other time, he might have cracked a joke, but not now.

“Really.”

Keith huffs, looking down at Shiro’s chest. “You wouldn’t,” he says eventually. “The things running through my head… they’re not something friends ask of each other.”

“Try me.” And he wants to ask what Keith saw on the space whale again, wants to see if he saw this moment happening.

Keith stares at him, really stares at him, long and hard like he’s trying to see if Shiro means it. And he does, god, he does.

“No, Shiro,” he says softly. “Don’t ruin what we have.”

But Shiro doesn’t even know what that is anymore, because they’re not brothers but they’re beyond best friends.

 _You could be my soulmate,_ he thinks.

Something like disappointment blooms on Shiro’s tongue. He does his best to swallow it. “And what is that, Keith?”

Keith averts his gaze, staring just to the right of Shiro’s shoulder. “Enough. More than enough.”

But it still doesn’t explain anything, so Shiro asks the question that’s been on his lips ever since he woke up in this body and Keith told him about the space whale: “What did you see?”

_What are you scared of?_

The silence is long and strange. Of all the pauses they usually have, this one has Shiro feeling nervous, which is an entirely new experience. He’s never been unsure around Keith before.

“Just flashes,” Keith says eventually, still looking past Shiro.

 _Look at me,_ Shiro thinks, trying to catch his gaze.

“Our fight, or at least, glimpses.” The next words take another effort for Keith to get out. “You.”

Even though Shiro already knows, it still makes him ask, “Me?”

Keith closes his eyes. “Yeah, you. Who else, Shiro?”

Shiro doesn’t have an answer for that. Stars fly overhead, the second moon rises in the sky, closely followed by the third. Shiro can’t remember the names of them.

“You know,” he says, finding some vestige of confidence among the burgeoning night. “That whole time in the astral plane…” He swallows, and it’s his turn to close his eyes because this still _hurts,_ nowhere near as much as it used to, but still sharp enough for Shiro to shy away from _._ “I was surrounded by stars but you were the brightest thing there.”

Keith doesn’t say anything. That’s okay. Shiro doesn’t want to think of the possible answers. He doesn’t know which one he wants to hear.

“I should have said I loved you,” Shiro says softly, eyeing the way Keith’s hair curves over his shoulder.

“Shiro—”

“No,” Shiro says, because he has to get this out _now_ or he won’t, ever. “I should have—forever ago.”

It hurts, Shiro thinks, to want someone as much as he wants Keith. It's a pain he'll gladly open himself up to.

“Don’t feel obliged,” Keith hedges.

“Give me some credit,” Shiro scoffs.

Keith doesn’t answer that. “I said I’d save you as many times as it takes,” he says softly, “and I meant it. I will. But it’s not… it doesn’t have to be transactional.”

“It’s not,” Shiro urges. “I promise it’s not.”

Keith keeps looking at him. He must feel a little trapped, being underneath Shiro, being forced to listen to Shiro bludgeon his way through this confession, and Shiro eases off him, ignoring Keith’s small noises of protest.

The cold hard ground is a welcome change to the pliant warmth of Keith’s body and Shiro uses it to focus again, because he feels even more lost.

He can sense Keith’s gaze on him, and they’re still side by side but Shiro feels the distance like a brand.

“Okay,” Keith says eventually, sitting up and crossing his legs underneath him.

Pidge and Hunk will be in the lab with Romelle. Coran would have taken Allura and Lance somewhere.

It’s just him and Keith here.

Just the two of them.

And Keith is taking off his jacket then, and the dark shirt underneath is slipping off his shoulder, and the long line of his neck is calling to Shiro.

And Shiro answers.

Keith tenses when Shiro’s fingers touch his shoulder, but he stays where he is. Permission.

Shiro’s breath is shaky at best as he trails his fingers up the slope, pushing Keith’s hair over his shoulder so the skin is bared to him. He could braid Keith’s hair, and hide behind that excuse.

He doesn’t. Instead he keeps going until he reaches the nape of Keith’s neck, and from there it’s the easiest thing to lean down and press his mouth to the spot. Keith’s skin breaks out into goosebumps. He shivers.

 _Don’t ruin what we have,_ he’d said to Shiro, but here Shiro is, arguably tearing down everything they’ve built together and yet it doesn’t feel like that.

It feels like puzzle pieces slotting into place, like a key turning in a lock, dominoes falling.

“Keith…” he says quietly, not daring to look up.

Keith turns, beats him to it by saying, “This is okay, right?”

Shiro nods, says, roughly, “yeah, Keith,” and then he curls his hand around Keith’s neck and kisses him.

It’s soft, soft enough to hurt, almost.

Keith gasps into his mouth but Shiro is too far to pull back now and so he persists, waiting until Keith eventually gets his bearings back. He can't have read it wrong, _surely,_ he told him he loved him, there's no one else—

When he kisses Shiro, the _relief_ that cascades through Shiro’s body is insurmountable.

Keith’s mouth is warm and real and Shiro loses himself to the kiss, to the way Keith holds his face and pants against his cheek. It’s been years since he kissed someone but it doesn’t matter—Keith kisses him sweetly, lets Shiro take the lead and do what he wants, gasping when Shiro’s tongue dips out to touch Keith’s lip.

“Still okay?” Shiro checks.

“Yeah,” Keith nods quickly, letting Shiro angle him up for another kiss. “Yeah, Shiro, of course—”

And for a blissful moment minute hour year, they sit there, wrapped up in each other. It’s so easy for Shiro to fall into it, to let Keith’s mouth burn his, to wind his hand into Keith’s hair and hold him close, and it’s enough and it’s not at the same time.

Shiro feels like he’s on fire, like he’ll burn if he doesn’t get closer, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to breathe without feeling all the places Keith is pressed up against him, warm and solid and real.

“I love you,” Shiro says haphazardly across Keith’s mouth, kiss-drunk.

Keith nods, lets Shiro paw at his back, lets him slip his hands underneath the borrowed shirt. Shiro maps out the ridges of his torso, clutches at Keith’s sides, presses hard on Keith’s spine to keep him close.

"I love you so much," Shiro mumbles, and then he's crying again, dumb fat tears blurring his vision, rolling down his cheeks.

"Shiro," Keith says, cradling his face, kissing wherever he can reach. "I love you too.”

— S —

After the astral plane, everything is sharper, louder, brighter. After the astral plane, the first thing Shiro sees is Keith.

And Keith is above him now, haloed in moonlight, smelling like home and love and longing, and the reality of it sinks bone deep within Shiro.

“You save me,” Shiro admits, “save me every day.”

“You saved me first,” Keith reminds him, not moving from the hold of Shiro’s arms.

And it feels like a dream, the very best dream Shiro has ever had.

“Home?” Shiro says softly.

“Home,” Keith nods.

**Author's Note:**

> all my love, sheithers; come bug me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sepiacigarettes/) 💛


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